Wolfmother
by Krahae
Summary: A little girl once thought lost returns home, to a family she doesn't remember, and world that has no love for what she's become. What place is there in Hogwarts, for a child who killed her heart to be a better monster? AU 6th.
1. Preface

From those familiar with my work, welcome to the obligatory Long Summary and Opening Notes.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or his universe. Which is good, because I'd burn it down and start over properly.

Notes: This is not a story about Harry Potter. Oh, he's there, poking around, playing Quidditch and all, but this isn't a story about him, so much as other people who happen to also be living in the strange times that surround him.

Mechanically, this will be a different kind of work for me. I'm actively using archaic speech forms and patterns, as well as a first person view for an undeveloped canon character, who I am taking completely out of their context. Astoria may as well be an OC here. And yes, I'm aware the site names her ASTERIA. Deal with it, or don't. Your choice.

This is one of two fics that I'll write in time that center on the werewolves of Rowling's world. _Wolfmother _takes a more spiritual, primal angle. Fíona (Astoria/Asteria Greengrass, as noted in the story properties) as I will depict her, and how she relates to a lost world, and then fights to return to what she feels is home.

Note to Outlinkers: This is for LJ communities, Spacebattles, and DLP: I have no intention of paying attention to what is said about this story. This is a work between me and my companion, and as such, we aren't looking for input. There will be no WIP thread, and though I often discuss my work in the DLP forums happily, this will be an exception. Link if you must, but don't do it to get my attention. Also: **Potter Law will be broken.** He is not the primary character. You have been warned.


	2. Chapter 1

_For my rage far surpasses my guilt._

Summer '96

Ministry of Magic – Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

–

"For my entire life, what I can remember, my name has been Fíona," I repeat again, and close my eyes. Different people, more than I can keep track of by scent or sight, have asked me this same question, over and over till I'm sure everyone in this horrid place knows it. Or, perhaps I only wish it so, so they'd stop asking.

The man before me, for he has given me no name for me to call, taps the tip of a quill on a scrap of parchment. "And how old do you claim to be?"

I know better than to react to his tone, by now. Any hint of anger, and they would spell me asleep or drug me till I knew not my own name, much less if I were asleep or lucid. Mother told me long ago that my anger must be tempered by my wits or it would rule me, but these... _vermin_ in the guise of men, are sorely testing what discipline I retain. Wearily, I answer the fool, "Sixteen summers, I reckon."

"You 'reckon'? Don't you know?"

Perhaps it's the overwhelming stench of some faux scent the man has slathered himself with, which seems to be the habit of these warren-dwellers, or the utterly disbelieving and disparaging tone he used, but my patience had found its end. "Perhaps you recall your birthing day, human? Perhaps you've recorded every passing moment, day and week and year? I 'reckon' because you harangue me mercilessly if I state a certainty – claiming me mad each time! So yes – I 'reckon'!"

Blinking rapidly and stinking of sudden anxiety as I have risen as I can while lashing out at him, the fool draws back and lets his hand inch toward that cursed instrument all these vermin carry. Regardless, I show no fear – these are no alphas. These are not my Gray Mother. I have nothing to fear from them, in their gentle, coward's ways. Huffing to clear my nose of his reek, I slowly sit again, and regard him with narrowed eyes as the chains that restrict me to this side of my cell jangle and clink at my feet. "What else would you ask? I tire of you."

His mouth draws into a fine line, and I see the age in him. The pain. This man has lost something dear... I can see it in how he moves, how his eyes bear so many lines and creases. The smell he carries masks another, drink I think, but it seems all the humans that come to see me either use spirits to base their affected odors or must be sodden drunks. Despite seeing this, I cannot find it in me to soften my anger.

For a month – a guess, as I've not seen the sun or moon for some time – I've been held here. Ever since crossing the deep hollows in the forests I called home, nothing has gone right. I breached the edgelands near of all things a farm, and one of grand scope. No mere garden and small plot for a few beasts, there.

With so much game to cull from, I ate well. Supposedly in doing so I had poached some cretin's livestock, near an ancient copse of wood that had been closed and warded away named Borthwood. It was from there they claimed I came, though I knew different – a secret they would not pry from me. How a single man can account for so many beasts – or need them, baffles me. Of course, I've neither heard of this Borthwood or Isle of Wight, nor as I recall it, ever been to this England it was a fiefdom of.

Neither claim seems to have been taken well by my captors. The farmer happened to be a man skilled in the mage's arts, and so called his Aurors, as I think they were named, and after some difficulty I find myself here, held like a prize bird at the market. They gawked when I spoke, apparently never hearing my dialect before. I suppose that's only to be expected, as I learned what speech I know from The Mother, and have only spoken to her and the few she brought to her home for my benefit. Her tutoring and insistence that I speak with her and practice such have proven both useful and damning here.

One of the little men that thinks me a docile captive let slip that my grasp of their tongue was, at best, archaic. He also thought rather little of my other tongue, crudely insinuating my descent from a Parisian whore. I don't know what or where Parisian is, but if one of these vermin approaches me for carnal favors, they may well count their lives forfeit, even if it costs my own.

"Miss Greengrass, I must finish the questionnaire. You should be aware of this by now."

That is another irritation these mages insist on. Some fool thinks me his lost daughter, and so by whatever process these warren-dwellers live by, now this is apparently my name. Mother once joked that my stubbornness could keep the sun from rising, were I to insist it still not yet morning, and that same trait has served me well here, to my great amusement. For example, I refuse to acknowledge any of the magelings if they call me by such, either 'Astoria' or by this clan name 'Greengrass'. If they insist on asking my name each day, then refusing to have the common courtesy to use it, then I shan't return the favor of hearing their mistake.

As such, I make a study of the far wall, feigning interest in the grand mirror there. It is a massive thing, bigger than any I've seen in my days, though as I'm learning, such means little within the bounds of these human mages. Perhaps every one of them has such a thing in their home? While my muse ponders such things, I observe the girl in the mirror.

Ever since I was a small girl, I had known that I was fair. Fair of hair and skin. Mother used teased me that I was likely to be mistaken while napping one day for a pool of milk, and wake to find myself under siege by an army of kittens. Little could be seen of that girl now, under the tangles and grime and the gray sackcloth they had me wrapped up in. I was not built tall, or strong, but I am fast, and I have a cat's lithe frame and quickness about me. That matters less, of course, as when I need to be strong, I am.

Usually.

Since being imprisoned in this room, I've been cut off not only from the forests, the sun and moon and sky, but also the pulse of the earth that for as long as I could remember, beat in my own veins. Without it... I was just Fíona, as I see her. Dirty, unkempt, and unable to do anything at all about it, or my state. My eyes remained the only hallmark of what I was, the bright amber, verging on gold of them glinting even in this room's drear light.

Seeing how much gold was there, I nearly flinched away. Not in shame, or in anxiety, but futile, impotent anger. Whatever magics they bound me with, kept the beast within me chained. Chained... yes. My gaze moves to the shackles and manacles, huge ponderous things that pull and wear at me endlessly. I can sense the tang of silver in them, and the worry of blood poisoning nags at me again.

I am not as strong as I show them. It was my own error that saw me here, and it pains me to think on it. To my shame it happened almost as Mother one day predicted it would, always chiding me for my rashness and will. She warned me often not to trust or fall into the traps of men, for they were cunning in large groups, and though that vile wit seemed to increase with their number, understanding fled in equal measure.

There was a loud sound, like a thundercrack behind me, and I turned slowly to raise a brow at today's warden. I could not recall what he had been asking, only that he had been doing so for some time while I let myself drift on flights of thought and fancy. Now that he had my attention, however, his mask of false calm returned. I know it false, for I can smell the subtle fear and worry on him, even under that eye-watering reek he bore. "Miss Greengrass, I assure you we are only trying to help you. If could only assist us, meet us halfway, this would be so much simpler."

Still half facing the mirror, I gift the man a mocking smile, "Simpler? For who, pray tell? You? Why should I care to make my interrogation simpler for my captors?" With a curl of my lip, I bark the legs of my chair against the hard wooden floor, regarding him again after sitting. "I tell you what you ask, day after day, yet you only return to ask again. Are all of you simple? Mentally deficient?"

The man blinked, then blustered about how my lack of cooperation was only hurting my own case. "What case?" I wondered, unsure what the man meant. "I am a prisoner here. You talk as if I have rights."

Blanching and suddenly pensive, the man reached up to straighten his glasses, "But that is, er. Of course you do."

Well, this was certainly news. "Then I demand parley."

"Parley? Miss, you are not in a hostile camp or at... _war_. If you must insist on legal council, then I'm afraid the circumstances are as of yet outside the scope where a solicitor would be of use."

I lean across the table again, a flash of anger at the man's duplicity sinking a low growl into my voice, "Then I am indeed a prisoner. If I have rights, they are as yet secret. Don't think to play word games with me because I may seem a simpleton, lest you prove yourself so." Sitting back, it takes a few breaths to calm my ire, so aptly raised by this apparent mouthpiece for the ones that hold the keys to my freedom.

While I regain my composure, the man collects his papers, apparently at his wit's end for the day. It is well enough. Were he to offer the nighttime sky with proofs and witnesses, I'd not believe him, now. As he rose to leave, he shot me a sad frown, shaking his head, "My girl, it would be best to cooperate. Your family-"

"My family resides deep within the wildewood," I snap back, rising as I can with the chains snapping taut, keeping me back from the man's immediate presence. The table is thrown aside, knocked over as I barrel through where it was a moment before. Regardless of those chains I strain, and hear the groan of metal and the creak of my own sinews, as his eyes grow wide and frightened. "The Gray Mother is my family, not those..." snarling, I wrench at the chain binding my arm and am only rewarded with the metal tang of blood in the air. The pain that follows staggers me, but I keep my gaze on the little human before me, memorizing his face.

As he backs away, I follow him, crouching beside where I've made disarray of the room. My glare promises what he fears, what it is they hope to bind with those same chains.

Death, and pain.

–

A week longer in this _Ministry_ as they call it, has convinced me that all humans that live within such places are quite mad. What else am I to think? They take the only raiments I possessed and garb me in coarse sackcloth? Insist I address my body's functions in some stinking, tiny, abhorrent space that smelled as if every human within miles had made use of it? Chain me, when I am not outright collared with a hoop of silver with inward facing thorns? I feel some days to be a prized yet deadly animal. It sets an ache deep within me, and a fear that shames me.

They ignore everything I say, and insist on their own truths, despite asking me for my own words. It is maddening. Why should they care that I can take wolf-shape? What is it about being Moon-touched that causes them to hate me so? And why all the insistence on learning where and what magics I know? I answer nothing, knowing well that nothing will come of it. Just more insistence on lies. Whatever unhappy providence that lead me here, I wish would take me back. I miss the wood, and the light and the clean air that a thousand mouths haven't dirtied.

I miss my Mother.

–

Today it is not the pleasant, if sad man that asks me questions, but a trio of fools. First among them, as he thinks it so obviously, is a pathetic little man, round and fat and sweating with a flush of fear and stink of it constantly about him. He has all but cured his clothes in the smell, it seems. He calls himself Minister, and by the name of this place, I take it he rules here. How, I know not. Who would follow such a pathetic, cowardly, weak man? I despair anew of ever gleaning any sense from this place.

If it were not for the lack of the Minister's scent, I would think the posturing little pustule beside him a mate. She certainly seeks to appease and stroke that one's ego enough to earn such a place. Though, for the life of me, I can not imagine any man taking such a foul and horrid smelling little lump of flesh to warm his bed. Did she bathe in that scent? Undersecretary she has been called.

Last, but to me certainly not least, is Macnair. Craggy and smelling of blood, this one at least I understand. Cruel eyes and a face in which they look at home, he sat at the head of his companions, leering at me the way he was. "So, a little wolf 'way from 'er pack," he greeted finally, lip curled into a sneer that perhaps to some, would seem frightening.

The gesture wasn't lost on me, but the impact certainly was. Rather than rise to his baiting, I leaned back in my rickety chair and yawned hugely.

Macnair didn't take kindly to his intimidations being ignored, and made as if to strike me with the back of his hand – halting and throwing himself back as I bared my teeth. I smirked at his sudden fear, "Careful, mageling. Wouldn't want to catch the moonfever," I taunt, licking my teeth openly now.

While the ugly woman went about muttering about 'filthy animals', her dear Minister paled and took a step back, as if only then fully realizing what he was in the room with. The bloody man before me however only smiled the wider, "So, she got fangs of a fashion after all. Curious dog though – you don't change with the moon."

It was well known to me that some of my kind had no control over their changing. The cost I paid for such control, at least according to Mother, was too high but she admitted I seemed happier for it. This also lead me to my unusual lodgings within the wood, and why the Mother and I were so close, rather than myself and a pack. Oh, I would run and hunt with them, but had no place there... Irritated that my mind would wander to such bitterness, I focus instead on the magelings before me. Strange, that I've seen nothing but such people in my time here. Were there no simple humans?

Of course, the Macnair man's slight didn't go unnoticed. Dog, indeed! My beast was chained, by my tongue was as sharp as ever. "I find myself unsurprised, that you know so little. Though it amuses me to imagine how such a realization must pain you – or will later, when your mind empties its limited cache to allow another thought within."

I smile as the man purples in rage. The Minister and his Undersecretary babble on behind him, apparently there only to lend some support – moral, emotional? – to the sharp-faced fellow before me. It did concern me somewhat, what they spoke of, but I kept such thoughts to myself. As little as I liked being a prisoner, it so far had been a very pleasant prison in which I find myself. If a tribe within the wildewood had come upon me, stripped of my tricks as I was, I had no illusions on my fate.

Raped, killed. Not necessarily in that order. Put to the torch or worse, depending on their opinions of those within the deep wilds. Finally stripped to the bone for meat, as I had little other use to them. Instead I find myself the unwilling nearly honored guest here. A sudden family provided, and mild interrogators. Were I to overlook the utter strangeness and alienation from my natural place that this Ministry presented to me, this place could be pleasant. Up till now, that was. Macnair's attempt to strike me wasn't forgotten. This man knew violence, something I smelled on him earlier, and easily. I can imagine no other real reason for him to be here, other than to pose a threat, or carry one out.

All this I reasoned out while his color settled, and the chatter on what to do about 'the beast' and unreasonable demands droned on and dulled to a low grumble. Finally it was the Minister who cleared his throat, his stupidly yet appropriately round hat clutched between worrying hands, "Well, we have somewhat of an impasse. That is to say, I'm not at all happy about this."

At the man's halting and barely muttered words, I looked between him and his party with more than a little disdain. This was a leader? Were it my tribe and only these three to chose from, I would have happily taken the blood-stinking man before me! Rather than voice my thoughts, I sat quietly, waiting for this Minister to find his point.

It seemed I was to wait some time, if he kept on at his 'hmming' and 'hawwing'. The Undersecretary instead took up the man's point, "As distasteful as it is, we can't keep it – _you_ – locked up any longer. Despite knowing full well what you are!" She made her displeasure at this idea known quite well, as her ugly, squashed face seemed to pinch into itself more, lending her such a look as I can't describe. Nor shall I try – I find my stomach unsettled in thinking on it.

For the first time it occurred to me that being moon-touched could be a _crime_ among these people. What a... fool notion. Still, perhaps it was best I had not ever mentioned directly my nature. Were it a crime as I suspected, that would have been tantamount to confession. Still, from what they were saying... "So. You mean to finally release me?"

"Much as it goes against any sense, yes," the Minister muttered, shooting the door a cross look. "You will be released into the care of your family tomorrow, to resume the usual requirements of those under the Ministry's note and reach."

That last bit had me tilting my head and narrowing my eyes. Note and reach, I wondered silently, making a point to ask when the chance was upon me, what those notions meant. As my eyes lowered, they rested on Macnair – who noted my attention with a certain dark joy. "An' yer wonderin' why I'm here, reckon." A short nod from me, and he went on, "That's easy. I'm to remind ye. Slip up, girlie, and I'll be the one ta deal with yer sorry hide," he explained with some anticipation.

Oh, I planned to do no slipping, once they removed these damned silver things. But I'd not tell them that. Surely they weren't ignorant of my temper, regardless of my, as they noted, lack of changing. Maybe they thought me a throwback. Maybe they thought me harmless, but the equivalent of rabid – just a carrier, a potential threat. Nothing worth sparing a thought to, as surely this Minister had more pressing things to lend his attention to than one lost girl.

And I was was to be released to my family, was it? Well, all the easier to slip the noose. I doubted this family, if they cared so much about me as they seemed to from all the mention of them, would collar me as the Ministry did. Perhaps some time to learn, glean what I can, before escaping to the wood and wilds again.

I may not even have to kill anyone to do so. Pity. I had nearly decided to make my own way. Perhaps I shall have to return, one day.

–

If I had thought there would be a great ceremony or to-do about my leave taking of the prison as there had been with my arrival, I was doomed to disappointment. Early the next day, before my captors would deign it time to slip me a plate of what they must assume was food, I was visited by someone new – and disturbing.

She looked to be my age, perhaps a bit younger. Certainly she'd lived like most of the magelings who came and went, with soft looking hands, clean hair that fell in a dark cascade about her face, and eyes without the lines or creases of worry or much experience. It was as I noted this that I felt the first stirrings of unease, looking back into those eyes.

My own eyes, nearly. Oh, different for lack of experience and the lines that come with great joy and hardship, sure, but they were the same color, as mine used to be, and sometimes still were. Not gold, but the blue of the sky. Same hue, shape, and even glint of schooled mischief if I were honest.

The second thing about this young woman that took me off guard was her scent. Unlike most, she didn't affect some faux reek that set my teeth to grinding, but at the moment I wished she had. Recently bathed, her scent was clear and clean – and far too familiar.

"Um, I suppose you're... Fíona?"

I rose, unheeding of her words, and paced the length of my chains, staring. "It wasn't a lie..." Again I scented the air, eyes closed as I picked up the subtle things that marked us similar. Time and living had of course a huge impact on one's unique scent – much as each man had a dissimilar fingerprint, walk, voice. But I'd be a fool to ignore this, when it all but slapped me about the face. "What are you called?"

She seemed momentary taken aback, but steeled herself, standing with some reservation and dignity. "My name is Daphne. I'm the onl-oldest," her slip wasn't missed, and I winced in reaction to the things it brought to my mind. Despite it, she went on, though her voice lowered, softened, "Oldest daughter of the Greengrass family."

This Daphne had been sure her sister was dead for years, all _my_ life in fact. Now she and I stood across from one another, and while my own means of knowing were likely beyond her, she had her own, "You still look like her," she murmured quietly.

"What?" Dragging myself out of my thoughts, circling me like crows over a kill, I blinked up at my... sister. "Who?"

"Astoria," she answered. "My sister Astoria. She had the same eyes... oh they change," She murmured, blinking. I suppose my shock wore off, and the gold had returned. "Still, they were that same blue, and was so pale and with the finest blonde hair..."

I knew those things well enough, having mused on them myself only a week prior. "She was lost some time ago?" I asked, faintly. My voice was weak and watery.

Daphne, for it was the name she called herself, nodded at that, "She was maybe three. We had taken an outing with mother to Hogsmead. A small village," she informed me, answering the raise of a brow. "One moment she was holding my hand, the next she was racing, or half tumbling, around a corner," her voice cloyed then, thickened by some sorrow. "I had only a glimpse. Mother even less, when she was snatched up by something huge and... just strange, into the Forbidden Forest.

"Mother never blamed me," she continued, and I could feel the unstated there. She blamed herself, obviously. "But... it broke her, somewhere deep inside. I'm not sure she's ever been the same," the young woman stated finally, a sad cast to her features. I was no stranger to guilt, and more than once I had been responsible for this or that child. To have had one's death on my conscious... Oh, that as well was nothing new. The wildewood was not a place that forgave mistakes or ill attention well, and the young and old were favored prey. But none of those were my kin, or blood.

Shaking her head, Daphne offered me what I knew was a rare smile – her face looked ill-suited to it. "But well, you're named Fíona, right?"

There was a bald hope in her words. "I was named such by the one that cared for me," I replied carefully, inclining my head slowly. I think we both knew that to stumble headlong into what we feared so would be foolish. I may see her truly, and she me, but we were not the people each remembered, or in my case didn't.

Putting aside such things was an effort, but I did so. "Daphne, why are you here?"

As if it were some trigger, the dark-haired girl before me jerked. "Right." Eying my bonds with obvious distaste, she pulled one of those sticks these magelings all seemed intent on flailing about with. "May I?"

Curious, and understanding her well enough I hoped, I raised my hands. She muttered some arcane words, tapped each-

And as easy as that I was free.

She repeated the process for both feet, and my neck. Shortly, still in slight awe of how easily she undid those bonds, we were off and she picked up a sack that by smell I could identify as having what few things were on my person when I was taken, inside. This she passed to me, and I took it greedily. There would be time later for thanks – I was eager now, the taste of freedom on my lips.

Some time later, and a ride in some indiscernible direction in a tiny closet of all things, I found myself staring at a most impressive statue. I had seen many, for the people within the wood like to make such permanent proofs of themselves, but this was... different. There were men, of course, but also some tiny being, another half-man sized, and then the impressive and altogether familiar form of a centaur.

What impressed me most, was the metal it seemed made of. I had never seen so much gold... and these people simply made statuary of it? Madness.

Daphne lead on, and I gleaned with some terror her direction. "No, you cannot be serious," I stammered, watching as human after human threw themselves into a fire, green as a leaf though it was, only to disappear, leaving nothing behind but floating ash.

She turned to me, confusion on her face for just a moment, before something dawned on her. "Oh! But you've never floo'ed," the young woman muttered, tapping her chin in thought. "Well. I can't apparate yet, and certainly you can't. If a floo disturbs you, I doubt the Knight Bus would do much less... and there's no way to get a portkey. Well," sighing, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but this I think is the only way."

"Way to what?" I asked, a thread of panic in my voice. It struck me then that at no time in this Ministry, had I smelled clean air. Was this place a cave, or cavern? What madness, to live in such a place, secreted underground. I was no cave-dweller. My legs craved the open field, the forest floor.

Considering my obvious fear, Daphne took my hand – gently – and pulled me over to one. "Fíona," she began, and I noted how she spoke my name as if it left a taste of ash upon her tongue, "there is no other way. You'll need to trust me. Please."

I licked my lips and considered the room, the people, the madness that I had to watch. Why would these magelings all burn themselves to ash? They would not, of course. Some magic was at work, obviously. Daphne used it, or trusted it enough to think it a best option, as well. Could I trust her?

A better question, perhaps, was if I have a choice? Not once had I gotten the scent of clean air. Not once the sight of the sun or moon from this place. If to throw myself into a magical fire rested my only escape, I would take it...

I just hoped my sister knew what she was doing. "Take this," she instructed, handing me a handful of dense white powder. "And do as such," throwing some of her own into the fire, it roared a baleful green. "The Fields," she stated firmly, before looking my way.

My eyes remained on the green flames, till they faded back to red and orange. "What devilry..."

"You tell the fire where you wish to go, after tossing in the powder," Daphne explained, easing me back forward. I had not noticed I took a step back. "Green means it connected. I will wait till you go, then follow behind you. It's safe," she tried to appease me, though it did little good, to start. My trust in her wasn't solid yet, but Mother taught me a little problem solving. If I had only one way out... I would take it.

Stepping forward, I looked to Daphne, who again mouthed 'The Fields,' to me. Swallowing my fear, I threw my handful of cursed powder into the flame, and stated with more force than I felt, "The Fields!"

Green fire answered me, and I closed my eyes, stepping within.

–


	3. Chapter 2

_For my rage far surpasses my guilt._

Late Summer '96

The Fields

–

My life, up to my mistake in wandering outside of the wildewood, was simple. Survive. Oh, there was joy, and learning in measure, but mostly those things taught me skills I'd need to wake with the next day's dawning. The Mother had a keen mind, if not one for teaching, and my own intellect was honed with riddles and stories, legends and tales to tempt and trick me into rounds of discussion and argument.

It was vastly different, with the packs that kept her ruins, and called them home as well. The best and worst of beast and man, they were at their lowest perfect monster, and at their height, enlightened sages. I could claim neither in my limited years. I understood myself, and my Mother – though not wholly, who could? – but little else. I was apart, outside the packs and it wasn't a secret. Still, I knew my way, so I wouldn't misstep and get my throat torn out in error, or be forced upon to mate. I learned lessons from the Mother, from those travelers who were foolish and wandered too far, and from elder wolves who saw in me something worth cultivating.

None of those lessons prepared me for the high magics that I had seen in the Ministry or from Daphne, briefly. I knew nothing of the complex dance of social bearing and position that seemed to rule these people. There was no skill in my arsenal that would make me a value to a society like the one I was exposed to. I could hunt, I could kill, I could riddle the moon from the sky, but none of it helped me here.

Above and beyond all other things I lacked, however, I was without any clue how to behave around a _family_. Particularly one that was apparently _mine_.

This I tried to explain, the first night I was housed in the Greengrass clan's massive holding, to my recently discovered sister. "I am unsure what I've done, or what to do now," I admitted, sitting with some open curiosity focused at the rather lavish accoutrements the room contained. My room. What an odd notion...

Sitting at a small table strewn with writing implements, Daphne considered my words while worrying at a large quill with her hands. "There's little that you're required to do. Hogwarts, of course, but I'll speak to you about that tomorrow. As for what you did, I think... are you familiar with expectations?" I nodded to the question, though it was vague. "Consider this then.

"My parents just realized the daughter they lost so long ago, could be alive. My mother in particular had so many preconceptions... they didn't listen to the Ministry, of course. And I mentioned how losing Astoria broke her," Shaking her head slowly, Daphne put the quill down with a small, final sound. It amused me, and at once made me respect this young woman each time she continued to speak of Astoria as if we were not the same person. It told me she understood, at least in part, that I was not just this memory people had.

"As for not listening, I suppose I mean that they were wholly unprepared for you, that is, well, who you are now. My father's mind, as it should be for a man of his station and family, was fixed on how this could benefit the Greengrass name. Another daughter to marry off for the good of such. Somehow they glossed over the fact you've been on your own, or away from us, for so long."

"Those aren't of course the first things in their minds," she assured me, though I think she said it more for herself. "They're glad you're alive and well. It's just the way of things here, and you're a definite counter to those ideas I can see them having."

I took all this in, with narrowed eyes. "Let me understand," I mused coldly. "This clansman Greengrass thinks of me as a parcel to be traded off," Daphne made to interrupt, but I shot such a glare at her, that the words fled back down her throat. "Your mother, though, can likely only see me as a ghost – one that wears the face of her long-dead daughter – and will likely never see me." Though I could recognize and understand the woman's pain, that didn't mean I felt it somehow my responsibility.

I did not question Daphne's own thoughts. I was no coward, but she was the only rock in this raging river that my life had become. I had no desire to undo what little stability she represented.

If I truly was Astoria Greengrass at some point, that little girl who had barely managed to surface anything akin to a personality that these people could miss at such a young age, had died. I am Fíona of the Graywoods now, nothing more, nothing less. That I may have been born of this man and woman meant nothing to me. For that matter, they meant less than they likely thought, even beyond my rudeness. It was not they, after all, that fetched me from my languishing at the hands of the Ministry, but their true daughter, Daphne.

Hence, my less than warm reception to their welcome, when I arrived. This seemed to put the two quite off. "I am sorry if my manner will cause you some difficulty," my apology was quiet, as I stood.

Daphne quickly followed suit, "Will cause? Oh, right," she had the grace to look pained for a moment, perhaps thinking of all the stress and problem I'd be causing her family. My family, I reminded myself idly. "I'm surprised, and yet not, that they're handling it so badly. I dealt with it so long ago," she smiled suddenly. "Maybe that's why I don't mind you being Fíona, rather than Astoria. I grieved and came to grips with it long ago."

"For that small thing, I thank you. So many things are new and strange," I explained, offering her a smile in return. "To suddenly lose my name? I think I would go mad."

"I suppose... well. If you'd not mind, could I ask you a few things?"

Such curiosity was not unexpected, though I still felt myself becoming wary, as I had with the Ministry's interrogators. "I do not promise to answer all, but you may ask," was my reply, and I hoped little of that wariness was shown. Daphne I did truly like, insomuch as I had the opportunity.

On hearing me, she nodded distractedly and rose, pacing a few steps in thought. "What was it like? To grow up like you have?"

"A broad question," I replied, prodding and trying to rearrange the massive bed they expected me to sleep on into something I could relax on. Giving it up, I stripped a handful of the pillows and the thick top blanket, more of a slight mat of its own, and took the lot to a place near the great open windows and their own little space to sit upon beyond. There, I made a nest for myself where the clean air could find me, "Perhaps you could narrow the scope?"

Daphne nodded, but instead asked a different question, "You speak so well, considering. I mean, from what they said..."

"Many have said the same, and I have none but The Mother to thank," my answer made her pause, and I cursed for being so careless with my words. "Let me explain...

"The wildewoods as I know them are nothing like the border forests you see. Your Ministry thinks I haven't an inkling about magic. This is a falseness, but one I fostered," leaning back against a the wall, I close my eyes, letting the wind from outside bring me smells of the lands surrounding this place. No scent of trees, but greenery as far as I could expect, lands given to growing things, but tended by human hands. It wasn't unpleasant, just... oddly ordered. The difference between flowers picked, and a wild field in full bloom. "I cannot explain the why of them. They simply are. The deep woods are a magic unto themselves, something ancient, far more so than the simple appearance they offer suggests.

"The deep woods are a place rife with magic, built on it, sustained by it. The Mother, as I speak of her, lives in that place. It was she that taught me to speak as I do, though it was not an easy task." A wry smile bent my lips, as I recalled the lessons of my past, "She would take those traveling in the deeps into her house, and have them teach me such things, till they had exhausted themselves."

Something I had said, or some way of saying it seemed to upset her, "She didn't teach you?"

Unsure what to speak of, or keep secret, I simply shrugged. "She had no talent in teaching tongues, I gathered. Besides, it was pleasant to have others about, as we were very isolated, outside of packs that followed her."

Seizing, as I knew she would on that thread, my sister quickly asked, "Packs? So there were werewolves?"

The word confused me, as it tended to, but I had pieced together some time ago what those outside the wood meant by it. "Yes, at least I think so."

Daphne blinked at me a moment. "Think so? I would think werewolves around my house would be obvious."

I didn't correct her assumption that we lived in a place she'd recognize as a 'house', though I did wonder at her meaning. It was a failing between our differing upbringing, I reasoned, and continued, "She, The Mother, had the allegiance of a pack and shared her grounds with them, and kept them near. She felt I would find such a comfort, perhaps. It was a mutual thing, as I understand it."

"So it's true, then?" Her demeanor had changed so much I was immediately on guard, but it wasn't a threatening thing. Wariness and fear tinged the air about her, with an underlying thread of sorrow. "You're a werewolf."

"I am Moon-touched, yes," I replied, hesitantly. "Did your Ministry not say such things to you? They did seem so terribly interested," I pointed out, with no little venom.

Daphne regarded her hands, pale knuckles white in the fading light, "They said you were, but that they had no real proof. You didn't change with the full moon."

Oh, so that explains that, I mused. Perhaps I am lucky they had none of the Touched present. It would be so much easier to simply smell the air and say 'yes', then bank on so much visceral evidence. "All werewolves as you know them change so?"

Perking up, partially in surprise and partially in confusion, Daphne nodded, "Well, yes. That's just how they... but you didn't. I don't understand."

I rose, and paced, turning my back to the waning moon outside, lost in my thoughts. After some time, I fixed my sister with my gaze, "Can I trust you? I barely know you, truly. Can you show me that there remains between us bonds as siblings, that have the promise to grow stronger?"

It was cruel, perhaps. Unfair of me to use such words, when her naked hope shone so clear so often from those blue eyes that were my own sometimes. Some deep, desperate, demanding thing inside me wanted this though, wanted the bond I spoke of, and to have one to share it with. I wanted a sister, some connection to a family, and what Daphne had offered me so far was to my taste, much more so than the faint remnants of such her parents resembled. So, I offered a barbed branch, in hopes my cruelty would go unnoticed.

Daphne regarded me shrewdly a moment, and I was suddenly made aware that perhaps we were sisters more true than I had previously understood. There was a canniness about her, that she kept sheathed like a blade. "Does your secret threaten us? My family, our family?" She asked finally, the edge still pleasantly glinting in her gaze.

Perhaps it was that light that finally removed all hesitation from me, toward my sister. "It could," I answered truly. "I am not as others, you see. The secrets The Mother showed me let me be at once more, but less than those others who are Touched."

Considering this with her head tilted in much the way I was prone to, Daphne paused. "It wouldn't hurt us, directly, you mean. It would be others looking to take that secret that could. If someone were to break your trust, I mean."

I nodded briefly. "Yes, but to one such as yourself? It would be useless – unless of course you find yourself Touched as I am."

To my surprise, there was a calculating sort of consideration at those words, that ran through my counterpart. After a moment's thought, she returned my nod, "You can trust me. And maybe we can make some use of this, if the times continue to be as they are."

There was no worry in me that my sister could unravel The Mother's magics, this far from the deep woods. There were things I would never tell her, things I don't think she could understand without being thrown into the world I knew. It wasn't distrust, so much as...

Do I think I could understand, without years and years within it, this world? Their Ministry, the massive houses of wood and stone, the casual magics? No. It was the same. Daphne would never understand the nature of what I was, at heart, because we were so different. Perhaps that is why I wanted to remain here, at least for a time, if I were truly honest with myself. There was an allure, subtle and curious, about a totally new world. Dangerous and full of unknown perils, it stirred the darkness inside me, she of the quick feet and lethal fangs.

Rather than explain, I backed away a few steps, and without the binding silver that the Ministry had so carelessly thrown about me, let the Change come.

Long ago I remember there being pain, a wrenching and tearing that only the magic that coursed through the Change itself could remedy. It unmade me, then bent me into another shape at its will. Some still had that disconnection from their inner beast. Their hidden heart.

Long ago, closer than the memory of pain, I embraced that part of myself. I fed the hunter within me those things that were weak and soft, vulnerable and imperiled. In return the pain left me, and now there was only the rush that comes with sudden surprise, or a quick kill. Fíona, fair of hair and skin and eye, fell and shimmered and was replaced by that which fed on her till there was no difference between the two, other than a choice of fur or naked flesh, fang or fanciful word.

Daphne shot a quick look to the window, and saw the moon as I knew it was – waning, a week beyond full. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she moved to flee, causing me a moment's lurch in desire to chase, till she reached the doors and secured them with a loud click of lock, and a wave of her mage's wand. Seeing her motion for what it was, a gesture to secure my secret, I sat and waited, content to let the night's new sharpness entertain me.

A few moments passed, and the shifting change in scents from my sister amused me. As I am now, the clarity of our shared blood is striking. We are so similar in that, but at the same time, the woods left deep marks upon me much the same as this place has her. She initially stank of fear and anxiety, but now, curiosity and wonder seemed to rule her. I waited for her questions, knowing they would soon follow.

She approached slowly, as if I were a wild thing, and I snorted a laugh, as I could. This startled her, and I turned my head, shaking it slowly. "You're... still there?" A nod, a flick of an ear. "Oh Merlin, that was a surprise. You could have warned me," she scolded, to which I snorted again. "Though, I suppose this cut down on the explanation quite a lot.

"We learned a bit about werewolves our third year at Hogwarts," she continued, pausing a few paces away. Rather than let this draw out, I stood and padded my way toward her, stopping when I could reach out and touch her. It pleased me greatly that she didn't flee, flinch, or let her fear rise again. "The texts said you would be overcome by your inner wolf when you changed – but then, it also said you'd only be able to change on a full moon. So much for the book, I suppose."

Daphne knelt down and let her hands come forward, stroking the light fur about my ears and head. "You kept your hair color. I doubt anyone has seen a golden wolf in ages. Of course, you're big for a wolf," she mused, and I chuckled in my odd way. Our eyes met and she smirked, "Yeah, same eyes still as well. So this is your surprise?"

I debated leaving it there, but decided that as long as I was baring myself to her, I should do so by no half steps. Perhaps it would help me along, if she knew. A secret tended to ease the way to others, as Mother often said. There were many things about this world I knew nothing of, and if she trusted me, it could only help me learn them.

And, above and beyond what I gained in a wolfen form, it would prove I was anything but helpless, even without the strange magics so many tossed about so casually.

Padding around her quietly, I nudged Daphne back till her thighs pressed against the chair she'd sat in before. "Hey – alright, I get it. What are you going on about?"

Quickly, before she could stand to follow, I darted to the center of the room, and drew heavily on the wolf's instinct, and my own memories. Flashes of the few times I've had to kill, to defend, to seek vengeance sped across my mind's eye. I could taste the blood, thick and hot, on my tongue, as it pooled around my teeth. Feel the sudden give and shatter of bones breaking in my jaws, the soft tear and muted rip of flesh rending from great claws.

Fíona the wolf was not my surprise. No, neither was the Change, bent to my will. My secret, the gift of the Gray Mother, was the true Beast, the one fueled by my rage, and leashed by will. Fíona the wolf and the young woman melted away, leaving only that burning core of white-hot fury, razor-honed instinct, and brutal power behind.

Daphne looked on the edge of panic, till I hunched down and settled on the room's floor, my height much muted by such an action. Her eyes were still wide, shining in the dim light, but she spent the effort to calm herself. I was glad – her fear smelled sweet. "Dear... Morgana, what _are_ you?"

"This," I rumbled, the voice dark and full of gravel and teeth, "is the secret I would keep."

"I would say so..." she muttered, rising again. "What on earth happened to you, in there?"

I considered the question, and shrugged massive, gold-furred shoulders, "I had to survive. I was alone, without kin or clan. A girl-child in such a place is little more than sport, fleeting, but sport none the less. Or food, for the wild things." Though deep, I kept my voice low, knowing it would carry far in such a place. Standing fully, I came close to brushing the rooms ceiling with the tips of my ears, and smiled a terrible smile at my sister, standing just over half my height below. "Once I learned to truly harness that which I was, I feared little the wildewood had to offer."

Daphne moved back to her chair, and sat heavily. "I... wow. I'd imagine so." Through her shock, I could see her mind, one I thought likely much keener than my own. Oh, I was cunning, and bright in my own way, but my mind spun with the motions of the forests. My sister's was wrought in another forge. "Can others in the wild wood do this?"

"Wildewood," I corrected, but didn't linger on such a thing, "And no, not that I know of. Perhaps some were able, but the Gray Mother worked some of her own magics into me. This power of mine comes at a steep cost."

That said, I released the kernel of my fury, and felt the Change leave me, the energy that once beat fierce and heavy through my veins weak and small now. I hated how weak I felt, after such a Change, but knew that to stay there indefinitely was impossible. Without need, it was even more taxing. Spent, I slouched to the small nest I'd made for myself, and curled up there, eyes heavy.

To my surprise, Daphne came and sat by my side, running slow fingers through my fine hair. It was a familiar thing, one the Mother would often do, either on a whim, or because I had earned her favor in some way... and it soothed me greatly. "When you wake, we'll talk more of less exciting things. Maybe, I don't know if you'd find Hogwarts exciting. I want to know what cost you paid for... that. I can't imagine the kind of life you lived, to need such a thing," she murmured, as I lay and let my weariness from the last month and a week wash over me. Regardless, I could hear the smile in her voice, "you're safe here, though. You won't need to be that here."

I didn't let the smile, slow and happy, fall from my face, when I heard the lie in her voice. This place may not be home, but I was quickly finding at least a part of it, the one Daphne held inside her, to be very comfortable.

–

Summer '96

An aside – Hogwarts and Harry's Summer

–

"Headmaster, I am beginning to wonder if your fondness for those creatures borders on the unnatural. First Lupin, and now this... urchin?"

Dumbledore sighed, reaching up to rub at his temple tiredly. He had meant to go on an errand, one he hoped would provide vital information on learning precisely how Voldemort had cheated death, but this nonsense from the Ministry had taken up his entire day. First Fudge's desperate pleas for he and Harry to help ease the public outcry about his stubborn ignorance, and now this. "I would remind you, that the Greengrass family would take issue with your words, so please keep such remarks to yourself. My hands are tied, Severus. The girl is in the register – there is no law against it, and the governors have been lobbied by the parents and any allied families. Above that, the Ministry is in a moratorium with the fiasco surrounding Fudge." Leaning back, Dumbledore breathed a tired sigh, "He can make no step that doesn't look like a mistake, now. So he chooses to do nothing."

The potion's professor's expression changed not one bit, as he absorbed the headmaster's words and admonishment. "Regardless, she has no education. I doubt she even speaks the Queen's English." Scoffing, Snape shook his head, lank hair falling down before his face for a moment. "The girl is little more than a beast. She has no place in a school."

"Your opinion, Severus, is noted," Albus stated calmly, his eyes lacking the cheery glimmer they usually held. "The matter is closed. Now, you had relevant concerns, for the coming year?"

Wincing as if physically struck, the sallow-skinned man dropped the topic, and moved on. "Yes. I feel it would be waste of time to instruct Potter further in the mind arts. He is useless at such things, and my time is too important to spend on pointless trivialities."

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Albus raised a hand, summoning Fawkes to him. There was a moment of pause as the two looked into one another's eyes, before the headmaster nodded slowly. "Perhaps. I'll take your words under advisement – but reserve final judgment till I have spoken with young Mr. Potter."

"You put too much stock in-"

"That will be all, Severus," Albus interrupted calmly, leaving his spy and professor's mouth working silently for a moment, till the man sketched a slight bow and spun in place, causing the usual flare of robes the man affected. When the stout oaken door to his office shut with a bang, the old man loosed a breath, letting his expression of calm falter. "So many webs... how can I keep them intact, old friend?"

Fawkes tilted his head slightly, then dipped and trilled.

"Work not through webs, but with strong ties like rope? Perhaps." Another sigh passed the old wizard's lips, "Perhaps I am too old and set in my ways to change my methods so much, as well. Time will tell, if my good intentions shall truly pave the way to my just reward," he mused, somewhat morbidly. His familiar chirruped in disapproval, before spreading his wings to return to his stand.

–

It would have been hard not to hear about the 'Wolf-girl of Borthwood', regardless of how isolated one was. That proved immanently truthful, as even Harry Potter was aware of the girl and her odd appearance out in the less populated areas of the Isle of Wight. Or rather, reappearance, as _The Prophet_ claimed she was the lost second daughter of the Greengrass family.

Of course, Harry had his own issues to deal with. He was more than a little angry at Dumbledore for his duplicity when it came to Sirius' will, something he was informed of by his now-suddenly cousin Nymphadora Tonks. Despite the Estate being little more than Grimmauld place by the time the reading came to occur, Harry felt the sting of the headmaster's lie acutely. He promised not to do this anymore... yet there they were again.

In return, he was less than gracious in refusing to turn Grimmauld over to the Order. Rather than assist the headmaster in his errand, Harry begged off, citing a sour stomach.

The trip to the Burrow was canceled – and on Tonks' next watch, they moved to Grimmauld, bidding the Dursleys a scathing farewell. Oh, Harry had no problem with the Weasleys, but he was excited about having a cousin, and besides, that... he knew that Sirius didn't leave him the old home to remind him of ghosts and unpleasantness. He did it so Harry would have something to identify with, for his new family, small as it was.

And just maybe, to prank the wizarding world by turning the Black name on its ear.

He and Tonks began channeling the spirit of Sirius in earnest shortly after, when they decided to renovate the old home, but ran into resistance with the Order. Operation Grim Old War was commenced, and the two made staying there nearly intolerable to anyone not on the 'in' list. That was limited to anyone named Weasley sans the parents, Hermione, anyone in the DA, and Dobby. Some tried to call him on his actions, but a none-too gentle reminder that this was after all his home, and they his guests, curbed any such talk.

Though it pained him, the knowledge that Tonks and Lupin's tentative romance had hit a hard stop after the will reading left a cool place in Harry's opinion of the man. Doubly so after he slinked off without a fight, once his cousin dressed him down for it, not even trying to regain her favor.

For a werewolf, the man had a depressing lack of spine.

Even through all that, and though it seemed like a huge rebellion, it was little more than a few spats here and there, and Harry exerting his own opinions for a change, once he had some. After it all, he caught up on the latest news – and found it all revolving either around Fudge's incompetence, fear and paranoia over Voldemort, or this 'Wolf-girl', whoever she was. He was happy to think that Fudge wouldn't be long for office, but that was just a single ray of light in a storm, really.

Never having been a big fan of _The Prophet_, Harry decided not to invest in back issues just to catch up, finding himself with free time and access to the news, that summer. Besides, if the scuttlebutt was its usual self, he'd learn everything the paper had and more, between Diagon for school supplies, and the Express to Hogwarts. That in mind, Harry resolved not to waste time on trivial things, and focused on getting to know his cousin and her family who now happened to be his own.

The 'Wolf-girl' could wait.

–

Late Summer '96

The Fields

–

Nature always sought a balance. This was one of the first lessons that I learned, and it served me well for years. I knew that if one of the wandering tribes cleared too much wood for their carts or boats, that the grasses would grow tall and then, different beasts would come to call them home. When rabbits and such grassland prey grew too populous, the predators, wolves and cats and hunting birds, would grow in number as well.

This ebb and flow of life and death, prey and predator, were things I learned by being a part of such cycles, not just as an idle observer. To a human, such abundant prey would herald a time of great hunts, and much stocking. I knew different.

When the prey was great, there were already growing numbers of predators. If man decimated those numbers, then what prey would exist for the other hunters? This was why wolves were feared and hated by so many, as they struck at the weak and infirm, when their prey was taken from them.

Hunting more than I needed was foolish, wasteful, and only brought disease and sepsis when the meat and carcass weren't eaten or disposed of. Carelessly discarded kills brought rats and vermin, which were possibly worse.

I knew the balance. I was part of it, and it was part of me.

Living in the Greengrass home, felt like walking backwards along my own knowledge, disregarding everything I knew for fact, took to heart as the way I should be, should live. "Daphne, sister... please. Understand," I tried to soothe, going so far as to hold my hands out like a supplicant. "I mean no insult... I just cannot do these things."

My sister paced about the room in clear agitation, shaking her head, "I don't understand. You're..." she trailed off, giving me a pointed look. "My father only once a year goes on these hunts. They are a family tradition, and he never, and I want to make sure you understand this, _never_, takes me, or mother along.

"He's trying very hard to earn your trust. To show you that you have a place here. Why are you refusing him?"

The implication she made, that my wolfen nature would by some influence cause me to simply enjoy hunting for its own sake kindled my ire, but she was as I was, in many ways. Ignorant, and mislead. Did she understand the deeper nature of what I was? Of course not – I had only shown her the surface, the frightening monster and the sleek hunter. Nothing inside of those guises, nothing that truly made them what they were, was apparent.

I reminded myself that she and her family were much the same. I didn't understand them, their nuances, their odd habits and desires and whimsy. It wasn't her, or by extension, her parent's fault that I kept my secrets close to heart.

They wanted their lost daughter back, and I wanted... I...

Daphne was growing impatient with my silence, but I had nothing to offer her, no excuse, or explanation. "This is one of those things, that will ever seem to sit between us," the low, sad cast to my voice calmed my counterpart, where reasoning words seemed to fail. "I will... try. Though, I do not see how he expects me to do this. I cannot use a wand that I do not have."

Again, Daphne sighed at me, and it began to gnaw at my heart how trying to please her, to fit in and keep this strange warmth between us kindled told on me. "You can use mine – and I'm to get you ready for the hunt by teaching you the spell to use. It's a simple arrow spell."

Resigned to my fate, I simply nodded. "As you say, sister." There are some battles you fight, and some you concede. Though I was never fond of backing down, for now it was my path.

–


	4. Chapter 3

_For my rage far surpasses my guilt._

Late Summer '96

Addlington Forest

–

The elder Greengrass, whom I cannot yet think of idly as father, called his troupe to a halt. "We're perhaps a quarter hour from the grounds I sent in a permit to hunt in. Once we cross the markers, spellfire will be permitted," he explained, and by the looks of those nearby, I assume it was for my benefit.

Daphne sat next to me, on a dappled horse that she sidled up to my own. The animal beneath me was skittish, uncooperative, frankly scared half witless, and prone to disturbing jolts of random direction that not only broke the elder clansman's formation, but jostled other riders as well. Of course, I didn't blame the animal. I'd rather be afoot than hauled about like so much luggage. However, I had resigned myself to this path, and would persevere. I asked nothing less of the steed.

It just left a sickly feeling within me, to do this. It became stunningly apparent after our second day of practice that I had no skill in spellwork. I knew why, of course, but didn't have the nerve to crush Daphne's hopes. So, we came to a compromise, one I was more pleased with, but still rubbed me in an ill fashion.

"You'll do fine. You don't even have to make the kills, just show you're going along," Daphne assured me, but it was little comfort, truly. Regardless I offered her a smile, hoping it not too wan.

As we let the horses take us forward, a kind of wariness crept over me. Something was not right. I hoped it was simply my awareness of the balance, and my worry of it gnawing at me, but I knew better. Rather than let my mind drift, I turned my ears, nose, and eyes to the wood looming before us. Whatever was awry, it dwelled there.

The hunt continued as Daphne had warned, and we crossed the line into the forest. This, I had quietly, privately, secretly hoped for. Trees! Woods! The sunlight sowed a patchwork quilt of shadows on us all, and it was grand! The air was crisp, clean, clear, and I could smell everything – familiar scents, animals and hunters, loam and leaf...

It was heavenly, but again, something was awry. "Hold a moment," I called, startling everything nearby. There was a rule of silence that the elder had declared, in hopes of not startling prey. Of course, with me already showing some hesitance, and now calling a halt, his face had gone stormy with anger.

"What are you doing," the man asked with obvious restraint. There was a tick of tension in his brow, even.

I looked deeper into the wood, eyes narrowed. My manner seemed to stall his ire, and he followed my gaze. "Something isn't right. The forest is too still, there."

Sniffing a moment, he made to say something, but then blinked, and thought a moment more. "You're sure?"

Perhaps he recalled that I had lived my whole life in such a place, or that it was a wood not unlike this one that I was pulled from not too long ago. Whatever providence allowed him a glimmer of common sense, I thanked. "Very sure. The smell is of men, and..." throwing my head back, I closed my eyes and breathed in a great lungful of air, slowly, taking my time to sort the many, many scents.

Men, horses, broken limbs of trees, trampled loam... further, startled birds, rabbits gone to ground, some deer, also stinking of fear – not from us, they were too far. Near there... men, again. The stink of alcohol, and bleached bone? Curious. Then, the particular thread of a scent struck me, and I _smiled_, "Men, and bone. Bleached bone, and alcohol," I murmured for my father's ear only.

I was not prepared for his suddenly widened eyes, and paling skin. Nor was my horse, for when he turned hard – startling the mare and nearly sending me to the forest in a heap. "Out!" He cried, waving his hand over his head in a near panic, "Back to the road, and the apparition point!"

Daphne and I tried to keep my horse, already frightened and unhappy, from bolting or bucking me off while those with the elder fled. He tried to grip the bridle to my mare and help, but she shook and rolled her eyes, causing Daphne to tell him she would assist me. It was a futile effort, and I finally just slid to the horse's side and slapped her soundly, sending her into a panicked gallop almost before I'd lowered my hand.

"What's going on?"

Trying to order my mind, quell the black hunger that bubbled up into my heart like a torrent, and figure out why my sister hadn't fled as well, I shook my head hard. The motion helped clear my mind, but all else remained. "Father took a fright," I bit out, as the pulse in my veins quickened, deepened. However, I didn't miss the sudden surprise that my address of the elder elicited in my sister. No time for this now! – "Men, spirits, bleached bone. What does it mean?"

My demand caused a similar reaction in Daphne, and my cursing as she whirled around in a panic caused more birds to flee the forest canopy. Finally, I dragged her from her horse, and ended her wheeling about that nearly trampling me, "Death Eaters," she muttered, as if that answered my question.

"Dead eaters? Scavengers – cannibals?" My confused queries brought her around, and she hushed me – madness, she was practically screaming herself – and pulled me down beside a tree.

Looking about, she hissed into my ear, "Father made enemies, by not backing the Dark Lord. Apparently someone got wind of his trip out here, and planned an ambush. That's what you smelled, those men!" Fretting with her hands, she suddenly went for her wand, and I imagine, recalled I had it. "Please, Asto-" shaking her head, she bit her lip. "Fíona, may I have my wand? I feel naked without it!"

Gladly handing the thing over, I went about stripping myself of clothes. "What are you-"

"There is a man," I began, wrenching off my leather boots. "I know his smell. He waits with the others."

Daphne seemed to follow my actions, with her own reasoning, "You're going after him."

It was no question, deserved no answer, but I nodded, "Yes. He will bleed for me, before the sun sets." My new belt joined the pile, settled in a crook of a tree's roots.

"I'll go with you," she offered, and I nearly barked out a laugh, while undoing the devilish device she fitted me with, to bind my breasts. Tiring of the infernal thing, I fashioned claws of my hands and shredded it. "How-"

I shook my head hard, "No time. We go, now, if you must."

My bindings, any I felt I could not account for with my Change loosened leaving me in loose tunic and breeches, I gave into its call and felt myself melt away, replaced with the fleet-footed golden shadow that was my wolfen form. As Daphne watched, I pointed, like a hound, to show her where my prey waited.

Then, I took the hem of her robe in my mouth, and started off to the east of them. After three steps, I halted, and looked pointedly at her feet. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, mumbling a charm that left her unnaturally quiet.

It would matter little – the forest may find her disconcerting, but the men would not hear her. That was all I wanted. The spoor I could smell was strong, speaking that the men had been waiting for some time. This was good – impatient prey made mistakes, let their guard down – and so I moved quicker.

Almost too soon we could hear the murmurings and heaving breaths of the Dead Eaters, or whatever it was that had my sister and her father panicking like yearlings. Daphne quivered, shook almost, as I hunched down, then Changed again. By scent and ear I had their measure, and knew this would be an easy task – for me alone.

Human of guise once more, I motioned her close. "Do not follow me. If you insist, do what you will to those that flee. I will not need your help, in this."

"But you're just one person," she hissed, eyes rolling about in a near panic that she would be heard. "Those are all wizards, and they can kill with a single spell!"

Lips thinned, I sighed. "Very well. Keep to this side. Approach when you hear them cry out. Do not be seen! If they are as deadly as you say, then heed your own cautions." Saying no more, but wanting to simply clout my stubborn sibling about the head to keep her safe, I fed the core of hatred till it blazed within me like a furnace.

She only swallowed nervously as the blonde I had been became the monster she knew lurked within. I settled on my haunches, as tall as Daphne. And then, I struck.

–

Pandemonium reigned, and at its center, I was queen.

My first lunge brought down an aging wizard, crushing him under my bulk. I heard and felt bones snap and shatter, and the final, liquid wheeze of air as it was blasted out of lungs made into a broken bellows.

Around me stood or crouched his fellows, all facing the other direction, all ready to die by my fang and claw. I greeted them with a roar that sent everything within the small forest to fleeing in panic.

Spells flew, but my hide in the war-form was resilient. I was cut, blasted, there was a moment when one spell tried to strip the skin from my back, but the magics that wound about and kept my heart pumping searing hate through burning veins mended and absorbed such things. Skin and flesh knitted quickly, leaving no trace but blood and my own riled fury. This body was built for war, for bloodshed, for the kill. It was my nature.

I am, and ever shall be, a servant of my nature.

Blood painted my fur a deep red-gold, as my clawed hand snapped out and ripped the bowels of a man free, the swipe all but reaching his spine and leaving nothing where it passed. Shock painted his features, as he looked down for a moment, only to see nothing where he expected his abdomen to be. I imagine he died – I cannot be certain, of course, other prey called for my attentions. Vaguely, I noted Daphne cringe and blink, as the gout of blood from my work reached her, a fine spray painting a line of red across her face. Eyes wide and unseeing, she reached up toward her face with a shaking hand. I noted this distantly, as the magelings recovered themselves and bent into their attack.

A cutting spell all but removed my ear – it would heal – but the gesture drew my attention. _There!_ "Macnair!" My roaring challenge stalled the battlefield of a half dozen, myself towering in the middle. They had not expected words from the nightmare that was felling them like young trees before the axe, I mused somewhere behind the curtain of fire that sat between reason and rage. With an earth-cratering leap, I barreled into the man who's face had gone pale and horrified in realization, throwing him into a tree. There was a thrill as the sound of snapping bones reached me, but I would deal with him later, when my sport was finished.

Time. Time would be needed for such a thing. For now, I had distractions to see to.

Distantly, I noted my blood-sister, wand lowered and a look of abject terror on her face. I knew that look, as often the carnage of my release to the fire within was a horrible thing, for an innocent to see. That would change, now. I had no pity, no remorse for it. My rage far surpassed my capacity for guilt.

Another little mageling clipped me with a spell – and Mother it nearly sent me to my knees! Pain like only my first Changing coursed through me, but I was no stranger to it. Pain was my ally. My bedmate, my precious keepsake. Cradling that feeling within, feeding it to the black hunger that cried and sang for the blood of these men, I ripped my claws across the space between us, yards from the man who held the crackling red spell on me.

Air warped, split, and so did he. From another, I suppose it would look as if I swung my outstretched claws at him, futilely. Then, the backlash of my will rippled with the passing whistle of air across my hands. Where I saw my claws pass, so did the force of my own strange magics.

Trees to either said and behind the man exploded in showers of splintered wood, as the softer target of the fool in a mask was ripped into pieces, his short, strident scream bitten off as the parts of him were thrown in different directions. Shock again washed over those that still stood and lived at the brutal savagery of his death, but I was not one to wait.

Another died, as I simply crushed his skull in my jaws. Sharp teeth, as long as his fingers, pierced and shattered his head from temple to neck. The cloying, fatty, greasy taste of brain had me spit and snarl, but I didn't linger.

Ever-moving, ever-killing. Nearly out of prey, I sighted the last of those standing. He was brave, thinking to sneak up upon me and stab me with what was undoubtedly some ensorceled blade. Rather than give him the chance, I caught him by the shoulders, smiled my terrible smile, and ripped him in half from gizzard to groin.

Coated in blood and breathing great gouts of steam for my breath, I let the killing frenzy ebb, seeing no more enemies. Only my terrified sister, and the man who would add spice to this banquet of death and pain.

–

"Y-You..."

I sighed, sitting against a fallen tree as the broken and still senseless man beside me stirred in his pained slumber. "Yes, sister. I killed them."

Daphne, as I had feared, had never seen death such as I plied it. "That was... was. Oh, Merlin," again, she bent over the fallen tree, and emptied her stomach. I pitied her, and now that the Change had left me cold and small and nearly human, I felt regret for taking that innocence from her. Regardless, I had little time. Unless the elder Greengrass was an utter coward, at some point he would return to reclaim his daughters, or what remained of them.

Hopefully, my sister would be sensible enough to listen to me, so we would both walk from the wood without her father thinking us _both_ monsters. Standing, I sat beside where she leaned, still regaining her breath and balance. Before the shock had set in, she had cleaned both of us, some of her high magics stripping the blood and grime from our clothes and skin. I had quickly regained my few scraps of clothing that I could not carry with me through the Change. The odd bindings for my chest were a ruin though. I could likely use that... but it was something to think on shortly. Now, I had kin to see to.

Reaching out, I gingerly rested a hand on Daphne's shoulder, "I am sorry, my sister. I would have spared you such a sight. But you must be strong now. We have things yet to do."

Red-rimmed blue eyes looked back at me, and for the first time I felt it a betrayal that my own were gold and amber now. Were that I still bore that skyborn hue! It would be a comfort to her, I was sure. Despite my dark thoughts, she nodded, and stood shakily, "I... I've just never..."

"I know," my murmur brought her attention to me, and she kneeled down, peering up through my fall of flaxen hair to find those cursed eyes.

"You had to do this often?"

I did try to shake my head, denying her words, but I could not. Not now. "Yes," was my simple answer. I did offer more, seeing her need to understand, to know why we, who resemble each other so much, could be so different, "The Mother had many enemies. Magics and those that work them... it is a rarity, in the deep wood. Gifts such as your own would bring a tribe of mud-dwelling scavengers up to nearly thanes. That she has kept to herself so long is a strange thing, but she took me in. Gave me hearth and home, as they were, and for that I fought. Fought to keep warm, to keep fed, to keep myself... my own."

To my surprise, it was I who was being embraced then. "I'm sorry," she muttered, voice thick with things I can only imagine.

Unused to such, I hesitantly, haltingly tried to comfort the young woman whom I called sister so idly. Perhaps I should not have... such things are a weakness. But it was a weakness that brought warmth, and I welcomed it.

Daphne finally roused from her unbalanced emotions, and shot a hate-filled glare to my captive. "What about him?"

My eyes followed her own. "He was one who threatened me, at that Ministry. I will have some answers from him." He was, however, still some time from waking. I would need to speed such things along soon, or our time and my plans would be forfeit. "You may want to be some distance away..."

Seeing my meaning, Daphne shook her head, showing the depth of her stubbornness yet again. "I'll stay. You're my sister, I'm not going to run off just because you have to do something unpleasant."

I admired her resolve, all the while questioning her reason. There would be no shame in turning from the sight of what I was to do. I would not waste the time in arguing, though. Scampering about the carnage from before, I pilfered wands, shiny things, bits of this and that that interested me like a magpie, and tied them all up in a small sack I found on one of the less bloody corpses. One thing of interest I found was the dagger that had been intended for my back, by one of my later kills.

It was at once like and unlike others I had seen. Blades crafted by those I was familiar with varied widely, from chipped stone to fine steelcraft. This was above even that, it's handle and crosspiece ornate with twined and twisted images of snakes, the blade bearing such a mirror polish I could see myself in the blade... nearly. The similarities were superficial, really, considering the blade wept a thin black wetness along its length. Wiping it clean on a dead man's cloak, my brows rose as it slowly took on that strange sheath of fluid, again.

Wiping a tiny bit on a finger, I hissed as it stung and burned, obviously some kind of poison. Quickly deadly I wagered as well, as thin as it was. It would not linger in a wound, rather speeding about in the blood at haste. Searching for the man I rended in half, I found an ornate sheathe for the thing, and set it aside, on top of my little trove of plunder. I would find use for that wicked little treasure, I was sure.

Daphne watched all this with varying expression – laughing quietly, if strained, as I made happy sounds finding shiny baubles, raising her brow as I seemed to search for something particular within pockets. Her eyes darkened significantly when she saw the poisoned blade, but neither of us lingered on it.

Macnair was stirring. It was time to work.

"Ouugh, urh... wha-" the man's insensate babble cut short, as I bent a finger back till it crackled and splintered like new wood. There was a confused moment, and then a muffled scream, as I pressed a thick branch into the man's mouth before he could do more than voice a yelp.

His eyes, shining and wet with pain and fear, finally fixed on my familiar and, judging by his thrashing, unwelcome face. "So you wake. I was afraid I had addled what passed for your mind, in introducing you so... forcefully, to that tree."

Maths seemed to be the man's weakness, as he took some moments to work through his last memories before his forced slumber. Then he struggled all the more, till I bent the Change around my hand and set wicked claws against his pulse, below his jaw. "Be still... yes, shh... You will tell me things, that I want to know. Shh. That is why you yet draw breath, yes?"

There was futile moment of struggle, as he flailed trying to dislodge the branch I was holding his head still and mouth gagged with, much like a horse's bridle. Spittle flew in small ropes, as he thrashed about, till I pricked skin with those claws and his eyes grew panicked. "Yes, yes," I crooned, leaning close. "You can see reason, no? You fear the Fever?" A short, desperate nod was my answer. "As you should. Those strong enough can make it a most agonizing death. And I do not doubt you recognize my strength, do you, mageling?"

Things moved forward much faster from there, but for his silly reluctance to speak truth. "I-I don't know why the Minister and Undersecretary were so interested in you-"

Another finger was bent like willow, sadly lacking the tree's own agility. The splintering crack, as this time I was not kind, was followed by a tearing rip as I twisted the broken bone within its thin sheath of flesh. "You know," I pointed out, as tears and screams rolled against the branch I again applied to muffle the fool, "I can smell lies. You stink of them, right now. Lies and fear. Do you know what they say, about fear?"

I took no pleasure in my sister's disquiet at my actions, but I had warned her. The cinder within me that was the Change and what it represented kindled, and I knew my face grew alien, fearsome and inhuman. "Hunters can smell fear, little mageling," I half-purred, as he soiled himself in terror.

When he quieted, screams becoming sobs, I removed the branch and turned his face toward me again. "You will speak truth. Or I will hurt you more, and worse, each time you do not. Now, tell me why they found me so interesting..."

And so, the man's tale was spun. The Ministry had quite the agenda to forward, as a ruling body. I found it curious they needed to threaten and bargain with those they supposedly ruled over. Did not kings and thanes and chieftains... well, _rule?_ Not supplant themselves before their people like beggars hoping for favor? It made no sense.

Yet, here were the reasons... they feared me as leverage, used by my apparent father's faction. Supposedly, the elder clansman held quite the base of power within this Ministry, and the man Fudge feared that his rulings would mean little, if the elder could rally his allies in this meeting of chiefs or whatever it was they called themselves. A Wizened Gambit or somewhat.

Indeed, it was a crime to be Touched, as I was. How curious! Did they have no reason, thinking to alienate those that held so much power, so that they were forced to be that which they feared? It was frankly the act of a fool, really. If being simply what I was, happened to be a crime, then why do things in half-measures? What matter, small laws to hold tribes together, when simply drawing breath could be punished? It was no wonder they feared my kin. My elder sought to undo those laws now, and this made the Minister's power unstable. How strange... perhaps his weakness wasn't so accepted after all.

I wondered at the transition of power within this Ministry. Would there be a battle? A challenge? Probably not... this man Fudge wouldn't last a moment against one even as rough as Macnair. Ah, questions for another time...

This one also had another master... someone whom he seemed unable to name, always using some childish label. This master on the other hand had heard of my unique nature, and had an interest in me himself. Apparently, my Mother's gift intrigued him, as he had other Touched allies. No doubt those driven off by the Minister's idiocy.

Daphne paled at that, and I wondered if it had something to do with why there was so much fear about her and her father when it came to these men, who dressed as none other I had yet seen in their billowing black robes and bone masks. "Sister, what worries you so?"

"The Dark Lord wants you, and you ask what worries me? The Ministry wants to silence father, the Dark Lord wants _my sister_ to give to Grayback... what in the world is going _on_-"

I snatched at her hand, dragging her down beside me, "Sister," her eyes wide, but now without the sheen of panic, I relaxed my hold. "It will be fine. Please trust in me."

Incredulity swept over her, but she nodded regardless. "Alright. I'm going to get some air... this is just too much."

"Very well," I murmured, releasing her hand. The other relaxed my hold on Macnair, having pressed his jaw down so hard that he was in danger of blacking out again. "And you... what else can you tell me, that is of interest, hmm?"

"I don't know," the wiry man whimpered, shaking his head as he could when I took the gag from him. "I've told you what you wanted, let me be, please."

How curious, I thought, tilting my head. "You would ask mercy of me?"

"Please, yes – mercy!"

I looked about the remnants of the ambush, obviously meant to kill the elder, and capture me. My eyes swept back to Macnair, and he saw in them that which he did not desire, I think, as he wept and struggled all the harder. "So, I see your plans clearly enough," looking behind me I saw that my sister was well out of earshot, "For myself, and the elder. What of dear Daphne? What would you have let happen to her, as I was trussed up like a prize boar, and my father gutted as a fish, hmm?"

Panic washed over him, the fear of more pain if he lied, or worse for the truth. In that, was my answer, of course. In that, was also his answer. What mercy would they have shown my dear sister? Only those afforded a woman taken in a raid. It was no small effort to keep my fury banked, to keep my jaws from growing huge and deadly, to rip this waste of meat to bleeding ribbons. My smile, mirthless and full of hate, let him know that I saw it too.

There was no chance the man could escape, I thought. Not with his broken hands and body, and how fast I could track him were he to flee. So, thinking on something I had some curiosity for, I stood.

Macnair, not being the brightest man really, sat and gaped, while I spun to pick up the slender dagger from the small hoard I had collected. Precious moments wasted, he scrambled as I returned, but I was quicker, kneeling down and catching his leg about the knee as he made to rise and run.

With a piteous wail, I wrenched him back down, reaching up to grip and shatter his collar bone to keep him from trying such again. Not that I imagine he would. With a flick to unsheathe it and spin within my hand, the dagger was held underhand, as I thrust it to the hilt into the man's thigh. Shock and horror played over the man's face, as he stared unblinking at the ornate handle simply resting there, so innocuous.

I tore his simple robes away, watching as the veins blackened and seemed to spread with the speed of thought up and down his leg. Skin grayed between those dark branches, and I watched fascinated, as the limb seemed to simply die and grow sallow and cold as the poison spread. No lingering heat, or response in the limb at all seemed to remain, judging by Macnair's dying babble.

It was nearly anticlimactic, as the hungry spiderweb of blackened veins spread, but I knew the true danger was not the skin-deep veins I could see, but the deeper ones, powerful and wide, that sped to his heart and brain. Macnair died, a low keen of pain and his face pinched in suffering, as spasms took him not a dozen heartbeats from when I sank the poisoned blade into his limb.

Wrenching the dagger from his cold flesh, I wiped the blood off, before settling it back in the sheath that seemed to quell the thing's constant weeping of poison. Daphne stood back, gray-faced and wan, obviously in some form of shock from the things she had seen. In truth, that would be for the best. I was cunning, and could lie well enough, but she would need to be the one they paid heed to, cared for, tended in the coming days.

Shock would also make the task of tailoring the lies easier. Thinking on what I had gleaned from the now-dead Macnair, and the demonstration of my new blade, I hummed and smiled, "Quite the informative afternoon. I'm rather glad the elder invited me, now."

Daphne, by her expression, was not amused by my candor.

–


End file.
